


Home Sweet Home

by r3g0rs



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Female Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Trouble On The Homefront, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r3g0rs/pseuds/r3g0rs
Summary: The Lone Wanderer returns to Vault 101 with the hopes of saving it from its tyrannical Overseer and with a success underway, feelings from childhood return and the endless unexpected turns the Lone Wanderer's life upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

_"Things got worse after you left. My father's gone mad with power. If you can hear this, please stop looking for your dad and help stop mine."_

Every word rung in Catherine's ears, her voice- _Amata_. Begging her for help, _pleading_ that she come home and save Vault 101, the desperation in Amata's voice made Catherine sick with remorse. It sounded like that morning- that _awful_ morning, she rembered the way Amata pled with her, with the Overseer. Catherine remembered the terror and the rage. It affected every single one of her senses, and it always came down to her- to Amata.

Catherine liked to pretend that she didn't miss Vault 101, that she didn't miss the sterile smell of its corridors or the faint whir of the constantly freezing air-conditioner that chilled her to the bone. Catherine acted like she didn't miss anyone or anything- that she was just mourning the death of her father and that the entirety of Vault 101 could go fuck itself in some cruel, unfortunate way.

But that's where Amata was and Catherine couldn't pretend that she didn't miss Amata.

Because Amata was home.

Amata was the sweet smell of pre-war perfume that lingered even after she left the room. Her love- her kindness, the way she used to wrap her arms around Catherine was her warmth. Amata was worth the cold, she was worth risking her life for.

Amata was worth everything- the world, the sun, the sky, _Vault 101_.

Each step that brought Catherine closer to the vault- to _Amata_ \- made Catherine's heart pound. She hadn't been this nervous, this kind of fear was nothing like what she felt in the Wasteland. The Wasteland wanted to kill you, eat you, enslave you but it didn't have the power to reject you because the Wasteland was rejection. Every man, woman and ghoul that lived out there was there because they didn't belong anywhere else.

The Wasteland was nothing like Vault 101 because the Wasteland will consume your being and the vault will just spit you right back out.

Catherine's brow was sticky with sweat, the headwrap that kept her untidy brunette hair out of her face felt looser and hotter than usual. Absent-mindedly, she scratched at where the fabric stuck uncomfortably to her flushed skin, Catherine was worried. A lot had changed in the past seven months, for her, for the Wasteland- and apparently for Vault 101.

It wasn't like she was expecting a warm welcome and a shower of gratitude when she came back, but she was scared of their reaction. Catherine wasn't the same, physically or mentally; the baby fat that made her soft in the middle had transformed into nothing but muscle and bone. Her pale olive skin was now dark, freckled- burnt from the sun and scarred from just about everything that had tried to kill her.

Catherine thought about Amata and what she looked like, she wondered if Amata had left her hair long of if she'd cut it like Catherine. It wasn't a decision Catherine had been happy to make: cutting her hair, but it was far too hot and dangerous. Once you've had someone grab you by your hair and pull you down a hallway with the intentions of _who knows what,_ it was be a good idea to keep it short.

Catherine didn't mind the way it looked, it kept her alive and comfortable, of course, she missed her long hair or maybe she just missed her curls, they- other than her name, were the closest thing she had to the image of her mother. There was still some semblance of curls that would occasionally fall out of her headwrap but they always ended up matted down on the side of her face or forehead, sticky with sweat or blood- sometimes hers, sometimes not.

And that was what scared Catherine the most, how would Amata react to the blood- to the sight of Catherine- _to the smell_. Catherine knew how she smelled; like gunpowder and sweat, like blood and some unexplainable smell that was just so _wastelander_. It was so distinct, so _her_ and so not Vault 101.

It was a two day trek back to Vault 101 and Catherine was about half of the way there, the radio signal that repeated every fifteen minutes rang in Catherine's ears. Catherine tried to think of what she would say, talking aloud and asking her companion Dogmeat if what she said sounded right. Of course, his tail just wagged as he trotted alongside her.

Catherine was thankful for Dogmeat, he was a companion that had made surviving out there in the Wastes a little less lonely. He had become a vesicle for Catherine’s thoughts and ramblings, Dogmeat had kept her sane even if he never talked back. But sometimes it felt like he did, or at least, he knew what she said – Dogmeat understood her in ways that she had realized most people in the Wastes hadn’t. Because unlike the rest of the Wasteland, a place where people desperately flocked together to make some semblance of _normality_ , they were alone. Abandoned. The _Lone Wanderer_ and the dog that had been left for dead by the same crazy that had tried to kill her countless times.

For Catherine and for Dogmeat, she thought, he was the only family that she had left and he hers. But maybe, just maybe, things would be different with her return to the Vault – perhaps, that she could do what was needed: help, save the day, be the hero of the story for once and maybe make a home of that again for her, and for her stupid, wonderful dog. And that home would have _her._

Amata.

Of course, it wouldn’t be white-picket fences and ice-cold lemonade on Sundays like Catherine had read in those pre-war stories, but it would be something pretty _damn_ close. Instead, it would be white lights that had never truly complimented Amata’s honey complexion and lukewarm bottles of Nuka Cola on days lost track of in a Vault lost to the sun and stars.

Catherine glanced up at the sky, the glimmer of stars were beginning to pepper the sky and Catherine thought of her first time witnessing night for the first time – how unreal and terrifying it had been, and how she had prayed for it to not only end but had thought of how she had wished Amata was with her to witness it, too because truly, the stars – the sky itself, were truly something that there was nothing comparable to and it would have been a waste to not share it with someone else. And even now, Catherine loved the sight of the sun-setting even if it had become a sudden reminder for shelter and rest before the beginning of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could've thought of a better summary, but it is true, haha! I've had this unfinished chapter saved in my folder for at least two years and thought I'd finally get around to finishing it and putting some effort into a story that I've always wanted to write. I'm sure a lot of the tags will change overtime as I navigate the story and what I want to do with it. I hope you liked it and I look forward to any/all responses. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t hard, per se, to find empty shelter but relaxing and settling in. Because before Catherine could even set her pack down, or crack open a can of dog food for both her and Dogmeat to _‘enjoy’_ \- there was the inspection of every nook and cranny, and the checking of each door to see if it had a lock and every window to see if someone could peak in and see that she was alone and completely vulnerable.

And then there was the situation of beds; it had become a game of hers, to find shelter with beds- ones that didn’t have springs poking into her or bugs- _lots_ of  them- crawling everywhere. And in the countless shelters, she had shared with strangers just as desperate for rest as her, or nights spent alone in buildings that made just enough what-was-that noises that left her groggy and slower the next day, Catherine had found too little to count with beds that she could actually sleep on. So, like any other wastelander that had a permanent crick in their neck- Cartherine got accustomed to sleeping on the floor.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before, she had done it countless times in the vault. Catherine had spent plenty of nights with a pillow tucked underneath her head and one of those thin, vault issued blankets across her body as she slept next to Amata- their fingers loosely intertwined as Amata’s hand dangled from her cot. Catherine thought about those nights often, they were one of the few things that helped her doze off; those nights spent  giggling while stuffing their faces with stale Sugar Bombs and whispering the gossip they’d overheard throughout the day, and dreaming about the life they were going to have in the vault together.

They had known their roles: Amata would take on the position as Overseer, and Catherine, a doctor- well, “clinical test subject” as Brotch had put it, but she had seen the glint of pride in his eyes before over the paper that had given her G.O.A.T. results, it was something she was proud of- she had spent a lot of time watching Jonas and her father help the patients in the vault and soaking up all of the information she could. Catherine had been so ready to take on her training, to learn from her father and help the vault in her duties to the best of her ability. And that’s how Amata felt, too- two generations of an Overseer and a vault doctor, but this time as  _friends_. 

_Friends. Best friends._ Catherine had tried to remember the label that the two of them, well just Amata, had put on who and what they were to each other. It wasn’t as if Amata had known how Catherine felt and had called them only friends to be cruel, in fact, looking back on it:Catherine’s feelings for Amata was her best kept secret, but that was only because she knew that her feelings weren’t the same. Because despite the hand holding, and the endless nights spent together, or even the practice first-kissing that made Catherine’s stomach flutter, there was always the talk of boys- other boys like Freddie, who had really _grown_ into  his jumpsuit and how his hazel eyes almost seemed to change from brown to green underneath the atrium’s softer, more natural light, two things Amata had pointed out one night, tipsy from sneaking sips from her father’s cabinet. 

_Had it hurt?_ Yes, without a doubt \-  Catherine remembered that night vividly, she way she had drunkenly huffed about how Freddie was still a depressed, idiot  _Tunnel Snake_ and how liking him would most assuredly make her just as much of as an idiot as him. And Catherine also remembered how Amata had snapped back, telling Catherine not to be such a jerk- lots of people in the vault struggled with VDS. And Catherine  also  remembered how she had shot up, and yelled things she couldn’t quite remember and then stomped away back to her room, red-faced and teary-eyed.

The memory of moments like those made Catherine’s stomach twinge and she shook her head, trying to attempt to shake the guilt and jealousy from her mind as she finally settled in. 

Catherine had found a spot, not damp from the cool February rain that had begun to pour and set her pack down. It was quite the process, undressing herself just enough that she still felt that she could take a beat down or maybe a _smaller_ bullet  and not feel like she was on death’s door .  Catherine took off every miscellaneous piece of jury-rigged armor that she had found or simply picked off of people slowly, stiff from the endless walking that she was sure she’d never get used to, and then began to peel off the leather jacket with a sore groan and folded it into a pillow for herself.

That jacket, that  _stupid_ ,  piece of  shit leather jacket was probably the only item that she took pride in at this point, it was the only item- other than her patched jumpsuit that connected her to the vault. And sure, it was in poor shape, the leather dull and scratched, and the embroidered snake on the back had so many pulls in its stitching that you couldn’t recognize what it was unless Catherine had told you, but it still kept her warm and it was, without a doubt, the best damn pillow in the entire wasteland. 

And every night, before laying her head down or even unlacing her boots, Catherine would say the same thing to herself and Dogmeat,  “ _Tunnel_   _Snakes, forever.”_

It brought a smile to her face, saying that and very rarely, she’d say it mockingly in his voice, making herself chuckle and letting her chest ache for home- and sometimes even  _him_.  It wasn’t as if she really missed Butch, he was still a through-and-through asshole that had terrorized her entire childhood, but she missed the vault and regrettably, he came with the vault. 

A lot of things came with the vault: Amata, of course, Freddie,  _Butch_ ,  but there were other things, there was the aftermath of chaos that Catherine had tucked away in her head and tried to forget, the mourning for Jonas that she never let herself feel, and then: the resentment. Catherine had never truly known resentment until that day and she had never stopped feeling it since, as each day passed there was another thing to be angry about- the pain of losing her home, the pain of trying to discover herself and just  _survive_   in the wasteland, and then there was the agony of losing her father- all because he wanted to save the world that the vault knew so little of. 

Catherine felt the uneasiness rise, a feeling that had begun to replace the original excitement she felt for returning to the vault. Originally, she had worried about how they would react to her, but the anger bubbling in her stomach made her start to worry about how she would react to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An incredibly overdue update- and we haven’t even gotten to the vault yet! I’ve always struggled with writer’s block and a 2 am surge of inspiration got me into writing the second chapter, lol. 
> 
> I know this is very Amata/Lone Wanderer based at the moment, but as you can tell, I’m very long-winded and I think this will be a very long slowburn between Butch and Catherine.
> 
> Like I said, tags will change as the story progresses. I would really love your feedback, I’m very new to this!


	3. Chapter 3

If there was one thing Catherine knew, it was that regardless of whether or not they’d killed someone or something or even just shot a gun, every wastelander, young and old had seen Hell and with Hell, experienced the nightmares that came from it.

_ Christ,  _ she remembered her first night she rented a room in Rivet City and listening to the screams of many of its residents experiencing their own nightmares and how they kept Catherine awake all night, her stomach curled and her eyes fixed open. It was a night that created its own terror that Catherine struggled to forget for weeks.

Catherine was getting better, though, sleeping through the nightmares. But tonight was different, Catherine tossed and turned, memories of  _everything_ rolling over her all at once and  this , this is what Hell must have felt like.

It always started the same, finally being reunited with James- the memory of their rushed embrace and the quick swiping of tears that had fallen makes her choke. A ton of bricks sitting on her chest making it hard for her to breathe, but then there’s the chase- the fire fight with the Super Mutants but her gun always jams or she just doesn’t run fast enough and then there’s his death. And it plays over, and over, and _over_ again  until it contorts into everything and everyone else, until there’s images of all of the gore she’s had to witness and cause. 

And the nightmares make her feel like she’s drowning, that something is pinning her down and she always wakes up the same: sticky from sweat turned cold and with tears in her eyes. And then she sits there, Dogmeat curling up next to her, somehow knowing that’s what she needs and letting her stroke his back until the sun rises and she’s calm again. 

And just like that, Catherine is re-lacing her boots and digging around for her canteen to make her tongue wet again after letting it run dry in her sleep. 

Today is a different morning than usual, Catherine can usually pick herself up and dress herself quickly but right now, this feeling in her chest? She can’t, or she just won’t  _get up._ Instead she sits there, legs crossed, her hand scratching behind Dogmeat’s ear absentmindedly and just lets the water sit in her mouth for a moment. 

What if she didn’t go? What if she just let the people in Vault 101 figure it out for themselves? What if she just turned her heel and went to Megaton, bought herself a beer and some semi-warm noodles and just never thought about it again, and just stopped letting herself worry so _goddamn_ much ? 

Maybe the nightmares would stop, maybe she’d finally be able to let herself rest, maybe she could just give up all of this- helping people and retire in her shack with her noisy Mister Handy and with Dogmeat at the end of her bed, and just never worry about a  _goddamn_   thing  ever again.

But then again- there’s the part of never knowing of what could happen, never seeing Amata again, or simply just knowing that she could never let people suffer without trying to do something about it.

And while Catherine fights this internal monologue that has made the headache from lack of sleep deepen into the beginnings of a harsh migraine, she continues to sit there. The water being held in her mouth dribble out of the sides, and she swipes them away.  _To hell with it._

She hadn’t signed up to be this hero that everyone needed her to be, and couldn’t she- just for one moment let her sit and try to figure this out? _No, probably not._

At long last, Catherine finally swallows the water sitting in her mouth and she tries to ignore the warm, stale taste of it or how her Geiger counter clicks up five and kicks up the dirt underneath her.

_Fuck it._  She can rest when she’s dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely a shorter, filler chapter. I wanted to give more insight into Catherine before throwing the audience right into the shit-storm that is sure to come. 
> 
> As always, your comments are always wanted and needed! I love constructive criticism and want to better my skills and definitely refine my story and Catherine herself.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Catherine had made it to the vault’s doors, almost ten hours had passed and the sun was finally beginning to set into a lilac sky. Throughout her trek, Catherine kept herself sane- cooling her nerves by sniping at the occasional bloatfly with the BB gun her father and Jonas had gifted her and listening to the same songs and stories of _her_ quests of ‘heroism’ repeat on Galaxy News Radio.

Catherine had always found it weird, not just Three-Dog- the man himself was a whole other story of uncomfortably _cool,_ but the stories about her. Three-Dog always managed to make them sound so grand, big stories of this _Lone Wanderer_ that paraded the Wasteland saving folks by day and terrorizing evil by night. When in reality, Catherine always seemed to just stumble in at the wrong place at the right time- always with a rifle at her hip and a lot of the time _she missed._

In all honesty, Catherine was embarrassed of her shot – it wasn’t as if she the _worst_ , but she’d be damned if she chose a .45 over _Betty_. And _Jesus_ , if Catherine was even more honest- _Betty_ was the closest thing to being her ‘girl’ in a while. And if you asked her _Betty_ was, well…

… _Betty_ was a bat.

And a _goddamn_ miracle at that. _Betty_ was a mushroom knob, heavy barreled, walnut beauty and wrapped in nothing else but barbed wire with long rusted nails hammered into every curve but her handle- and _Christ_ , she was the prettiest thing Catherine had ever laid hands on and the smoothest swing ever swung. And if you asked Catherine, _Betty_ was one of the best things, besides Dogmeat that she’d ever found in the Wasteland.

Initially _Betty_ was nothing but a three-pound bat Catherine had found in a pre-war sporting goods store, but overtime, she had become the most trustworthy weapon Catherine had wielded. Sure, she wasn’t used a lot – can’t bring a baseball bat to a gunfight with Super Mutants and deathclaws - but when Catherine had the chance to swing, _Betty_ was always deadly.

 _Betty_ sat strapped to Catherine’s pack, the barbed wire and nails always exposed, the worn leather of Catherine’s pack was torn and patched from the tears they always caused. And to be quite honest, Catherine had lost count of the times that she’d sliced her hand reaching for _Betty,_ forgetting that pointy side hung bottom and handle sat up.

Catherine thought of her appearance once more, how _Betty –_ covered in the gore of man and creature alike must have looked strapped to her, or how the stained wrap around her head was concealing the chopped and mutilated curls that once bounced on her shoulders. Catherine was no longer the _decent_ looking girl that had left the vault. Instead, Catherine was harsh on the eyes – she was thin, a _lot_ thinner than she had been months ago when she could indulge in nothing but Miss Palmer’s sweet rolls and Instamash. And she was scarred, too. Her skin was nothing but a combination of fresh, pink scars and new wounds, and deep, white scars that told stories of her first few months stranded in the Wasteland with no direction. And it didn’t help that even now, Catherine looked rougher than usual, she had split her upper lip and was walking around with a shiner was finally starting to yellow in some places- all courtesy of a drunken beatdown outside of The Muddy Rudder less than two weeks ago.

So, Catherine knew, aware that she was about to walk in – unprepared for a vault in chaos, her friends and home unseen for almost a year. Would there be blood and bruises, and scars that told stories of betrayal, or would it be simpler than that? What if they were just older and scared of a tyrant that her father had always warned her about in privacy? The only thing that would give Catherine her answer was if she could just _open the goddamn door_ and stop being so scared of what was to come next.

Catherine stood there – her hand hovering over the planked door that kept the vault away from the rest of the world. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this, Dogmeat.”

Dogmeat whined next to her, his nose nudging at her pant leg. He somehow always knew, and it settled Catherine’s stomach slightly. “You’re right, _fuck it_ , why not?” And in a swift move, Catherine swung open the door and took her first step into the dank tunnel. 

_“Home sweet home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never had this much inspiration to write in my life, perhaps it's because I have so little distractions at the moment. I know that this story isn't really reaching an audience at all, but I'm going to update it as much as possible for the satisfaction of myself.
> 
> If you are reading by chance, please leave a 'kudos' or a comment. I'd really like to know if someone's enjoying it, or not, regardless I'd love feedback!


	5. Chapter 5

It was during moments like these that Catherine would flick open the strap to her gun holster, even if Amata was the one asking for her help, Catherine knew that not everyone would want it. Not the Overseer, or even most of his little police lackies. Catherine said a little prayer to herself, mouthing the words as she approached the vault door’s control panel, _“Please don’t let it be Mack, please don’t let it be Mack.”_

Her fingers twitched above the .45 in her holster and stepped as she waited for the door to roll open, its alarm system making her ears ring. Catherine felt the sweat roll down her spine and she shuddered, _be prepared for the worst_ _and never expect the best._

And finally, when the alarm goes off and she hears the vault door lock into place, she steps one foot in falling into a crouching position and scans the entrance room. “Empty?” She whispers to herself, and she feels the anxiety rise in her chest. _This can’t be good, empty is never good._ And just like that Catherine picks herself up again, and walks to the door- this time with her gun in hand. “You ready, boy?”

Dogmeat looks up at her, his mouth falling into a pant and Catherine nods. “Alright, let’s do this.” With four, slow turns of the wheel to the door it creaks open.

“Stop right there! I don’t know how you got in here, but – hold on…”

 “Officer Gomez?”

A wave of relief washed over Catherine and she could see the relief wash over his, the two of them lowered their weapons, the click of their safety’s being turned back on. “ _Jesus_ , kid. I hardly recognized you with all that dust and grime from out there.”

The corner of Catherine’s lips perked into a slight smile, “It’s good to see you, too,” what little smile Catherine had fell immediately, and she felt the tension rise again in her chest, “I got Amata’s message, and I came to help if I could.”

“Amata’s message?” Gomez asked, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you better keep that under your hat, for her sake. She could get into a lot of trouble for sending out a message to you, and so could I, just for speaking with you.”

Catherine could hear the sudden rise of panic in Officer Gomez’s voice, “I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble.” She soothed.

“I’m sure, and I’m sure you know from that message that every since that night, it’s been madness down here. Nothing but trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

Officer Gomez stares at her for a moment, his posture going stiff, “Everything went crazy, we lost a lot of people. When your dad opened up that gate, he let loose a whole lot of _shit_ , if you’ll pardon my language.”

Guilt made Catherine’s blood run cold, it wasn’t his fault – her father never meant to hurt anybody, but she knew he had. Catherine remembered that night from Hell, how many people were lost in the confusion, how many people she had to _put down_ just so that she could get out and get to him. “My father would be horrified to know all of that, if he were still alive, of course.”

“I’m – I’m sorry to hear that, regardless of how things turned out down here, he was a good friend. I always figured he’d do well outside.” Officer Gomez softened and tucked his gun into his holster, “Matter of fact, a lot of folks started thinking he had the right idea. He usually did.”

Catherine nodded, her small smile creeping back on her lips, “He did, I spent a lot of my time out there looking for him, spent a lot of time getting my ass kicked because of it. It’s a different world out there, but it’s a lot safer because of him.”

Officer Gomez matches her smile, it’s forced – but sympathetic nonetheless, “That’s good to hear, a lot of folks thought to themselves, if it was safe out there, why stay down here forever?”

“Good question.”

He chuckles, and the small smile he had falls flat, “Well, the Overseer didn’t like that one bit, and started cracking down on that sort of thought.”

_Of course, he did._

 “Guess he didn’t plan on you coming back.”

_Of course, he didn’t._

Catherine smirks, this time knowingly of what to do next, her reservations about returning and aiding to the vault leaving her system. “So, what’s next?”

Officer Gomez matches her smirk, “I know better than to try and arrest you and bring you to the Overseer, however, I know those _rebels_ would like to see you now, more than ever.”

“Think you can lead me to them?”

“Only if you keep your head down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed a lot of the dialogue, but tried to stay true to Officer Gomez. I won't go through the whole walk-through of 'Trouble on the Homefront' and bore you, but I felt like this was a necessary first encounter in the vault.


	6. Chapter 6

Catherine hesitates for a moment, strip down – remove her gear and leave her pack in the entrance? Honestly, she couldn’t think of anything else to say but _“fuck no”_ to Officer Gomez, but she knew better and she knew that he was right: leave anything extra, even Dogmeat himself and walk down these corridors in just her vault jumpsuit and her gun in its holster- it was the best way for her to blend in and the best way to make her feel _naked._

But Catherine follows suit, tucking her gear into a corner and scratching Dogmeat behind his ear, “I’ll be right back.” She soothes, and his whine makes her heart ache. “I promise.”

Officer Gomez watches her every move intensely until she’s at her feet and standing in front of him. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep your head down, God forbid someone recognize you. Not that you’re that recognizable in the first place.”

Catherine chuckles, “Got it.”

The two of them walk together, Catherine at the heel of Officer Gomez with her head tucked low. A wave of emotions washes over as they walk through the vault together, it’s in complete and utter disarray. Its walls are painted with signs of _Fuck you, Overseer!_ and _Let us out of here!_ , it catches her all off guard – the silence of the halls, the papers strewn everywhere and the dried blood that’s splattered on some walls.

“I don’t know how it got to this.” Office Gomez whispers, pain in his voice. “I try to keep the vault safe, my family even more, but I’m terrified. Especially for Freddie.”

 _Freddie –_ Jesus, Catherine hadn’t thought of him all day, “Is he – ²

“A rebel?”

Catherine nods behind Officer Gomez, letting out a small _‘mm’._

“Yes.”

And just like that, the conversation dies there and it does nothing but Catherine even more uncomfortable, a small _‘oh’_ failing to escape her mouth. _Good for Freddie._

Officer Gomez and Catherine walk through different levels of the vault, and Catherine forces herself to ignore the shouting that comes from some of the vault’s different rooms. And Catherine can’t help but feel the tears prickle in the corner of her eyes, she never was one for crying, but there’s an anger rising in her chest – one that she just can’t place anymore. How could it get to this? How could the Overseer let this happen? If they hadn’t forced her out, maybe this wouldn’t have happened – maybe if her father had just _stayed_.

Catherine stops herself there, becoming angry at herself – she can’t blame her father for what happened, he saved the entire Wasteland and it wasn’t his fault that one tiny vault couldn’t get its shit together. And that’s why she was there, not because of what her _father_ failed to do, but because of what the _vault_ failed to do. And that’s why she was there – doing what the vault couldn’t do and something she knew her father would’ve done.  

It didn’t take long for Officer Gomez to navigate the halls, and quite honestly, Catherine knew that she could’ve done it alone- but Officer Gomez made it easier, it brought a comfort that walking through these halls, she already had an ally that was going to keep her safe, even if she knew that with the position Officer Gomez was – he was _limited._

“And we’re here, don’t say I didn’t do anything for you – and _don’t_ expect anything else from me.” He warns and Catherine nods.

“Thank you, I think I can take it from here.”

Officer Gomez nods and places a hand on her shoulder, “Be safe, kid. And when this is all over, please- _for the love of God­, ­­­_ take a shower.”

Catherine chuckles, “I will.”

And just like that, Officer Gomez turns his heel and walks away- and Catherine stares at him for a moment, thankful.

Catherine shakes the thought from her head, _there’s no more time to waste_ and she cracks her knuckles. “Alright, let’s do this.” Catherine presses her finger against the door panel, and the doors slide open, and for a moment- the wind is knocked right out of her.

 _Dad’s office_.

_Amata._

“Oh my God, you’re back!”


	7. Chapter 7

It was hard to concentrate, listening to Amata – trying to fully grasp the situation and think about a plan of _not-attack_ as Amata had put it without thinking of the mixture of emotions running through her head and body. There she was: _Amata_ \- and she was just as compassionate as she was before.  

“He’s still my father, I don’t want him dead.”

“Right.” Catherine nodded. And something felt off about saying _‘right’_ , because Catherine knew exactly what she wanted: a bullet lodged firmly in between Alphonse Almodovar’s eyes. Catherine ran scenario’s through her head, trying to find any way where she could control the anger boiling under her skin enough where she wouldn’t just _blow his brains out_ and there just wasn’t.

“I’ll do my best, Amata – but I can’t keep that kind of promise. And to be honest, I don’t know if I want to.”

Catherine would have traded the look of shock that Amata gave her for the one that had been given fifteen minutes ago when they had first laid eyes on each other. And for Catherine – it was almost disappointing, of course, it was refreshing to see that through it all Amata had stayed the same: strong, resilient, and kind beyond words, but it was disappointing still. After everything that Amata and the vault had been through, she couldn’t just relinquish some of that decency and get with the program? The Overseer deserved to be dead- there was no mercy for a tyrant in Catherine’s eyes and even less for a murderer.

And it was even more frustrating for Catherine to listen to the objections, the justifications for why he deserved to live. “You don’t understand- "

“ -No, Amata. You don’t understand.” And Catherine wished that this wasn’t how their first interaction together would’ve been, “I have been out there in the Wasteland for _months_ , I have slept every night remembering the sound of your father’s voice _threatening_ me – remembering how Jonas’s body looked, disfigured and _dead._ Your father is a _murderer_ – and there is no clemency for that.”

Amata’s voice rose, and Catherine could see the tears welling in the corners of her eyes, “Killing him would make you a murderer, too!”

Catherine’s tone fell short, anger turning level – her blood boiling at an even rate, and her stare turned cold. “I’ve put down plenty of people like him, he wouldn’t be the first- nor the last.” And Catherine watched Amata step back and she recognized that look of fear- the understanding of who, _what_ Catherine now was. It was a look Catherine had seen plenty of times, and guiltily, a look she relished in.

“I wouldn't be able to forgive you,” Amata whispered, her voice trembling.

Catherine closed her mouth as quickly as she opened it, hesitant and guilty of what her next answer was going to be, “Then you shouldn’t have asked for my help.” And like that, Catherine turned sharply on her heel – flicking the safety off, “If anyone – and I mean _anyone_ , gets in the way of me getting to the Overseer’s office, I will put them down, too.”

And before Amata could object again, Catherine stepped out of the office - _her father’s office,_ the one that she had waited so long to be in again and sighed, letting her stiff posture fall. Catherine was undoubtedly angry, but more than anything at that moment, she was _sad._ Catherine had waited so long, anticipating the moment that she would reunite with Amata – she had wanted it to be joyous, a moment where they’d hug and celebrate, and talk about everything that had happened. But instead, she could see the hatred form in Amata’s eyes. And Catherine could feel the pull of her feelings beginning to loosen, things had changed – _Catherine_ had changed, the vault and the world had changed, and somehow Amata hadn’t- and that feeling no longer felt refreshing, it was just reckless naivety that a vault couldn’t afford if it wanted to open its doors to the unforgiving Wasteland.

Catherine tried desperately to shake the blossoming anger towards Amata out of her head and fixed herself on making her way to the Overseer’s office. It wasn’t a short distance away, just up the stairs, so there was no worry of bumping into someone.

“Hold on a second.”

_Or not._

Catherine paused where she stood, her hand hovering over the gun sitting in her holster and her finger twitched. _God,_ she wished she was a better shot – because she only had six rounds in her chamber and she wasn’t ready to waste more than one ‘spraying and praying’.

“Is that you? Is that really you, Nosebleed?”

Catherine’s heart plummeted into her stomach and relief washed over her, it was _him_.

_Butch._

“Listen, Deloria. I don’t have time for this right now.” Catherine said, her back still turned against him.

“I figured as much, was making my way past the clinic and ran into Amata. Told me what your big plan was.” His voice was plain, but it still made her blood run cold.

“You going to stop me?”

“ _Fuck_ no, whole vault except for your girlfriend and his little lackies want him dead. Tell that shrimp-dicked prick that the Tunnel Snakes say _‘hi’_ before you blow his brains out.”

Catherine nodded her head, a smirk forming on her lips. _Roger that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Butch is finally here, well, very briefly - but he's here!


End file.
